A glimpse of our adventures during two recent and incredible trips to Tofino. Goodness, our whole little family really loves that place. We've been visiting this rugged, coastal paradise for over 15 years now, since Sean and I first started dating. He loves to surf, and I could blissfully pass the hours by beachcombing along the shore. Now, with Coco in tow, we watch as she grows her own love for this storybook seaside land. The treetops are silver and bare, twisted by decades of coastal storms, and when the sun shines it is paradise. If the sun doesn't shine, however, then never mind. Storm watching from the mist-laden shores is breathtaking. After a campfire feast, I read by lamplight fables of mermaids and selkies while listening to the roaring tune of the ocean only steps away, and as we fall asleep it doesn't take much to imagine you can hear them singing into the night.

Back in January, when the wintry weather was in full force and the days seemed oh so far from the height of summer, we bought a camper van. It was one of those decisions in life that is mulled over for a long time, but then quickly comes to be when everything falls into place. We were willing, the right van was found, and the rest is history. Or, I should say, the rest is right now. Suddenly our world has grown! Sean and I are excited for our travels to come (we live in the perfect corner of the world for seaside adventure, vineyards, and exploring little islands), but if truth be told this dear old van came into our lives as a vehicle for something greater than travel- our family togetherness.

Back in January this glorious summer did seem far away, yes. But, in our hearts we had already begun to miss the experience of our land during the spring and planting season. Not in a longing way, but more in a missing of the rituals of rural life that we knew all of us would soon be having had we stayed on the land. No one took more to country life than Coco, and her curiosity and character flourished, as did her love for wild things. So, back in January we began to wonder: how can we nurture her wild and wonderful ways while urban living?

I heard once that children who have an attachment to the environment are ones who have fallen in love with wild spaces. These are places beyond the limitations of a city park, but rather a spot in nature they visit where they can explore and test their confidence. If children can grow up loving natural spaces, then wilderness grows rich with importance and meaning. I had this in my own childhood and I was lucky that it was my own country back yard. Coco had it for a year, but though our urban yard is very sweet, it is far from the wild tangles I wish for her.

Sean and I often talk about the experiences we wish for Coco, the kind of experiences she will later recall with: when I was a kid we always, or, every summer we went to (...). We want to create experiences together that celebrate seasonal rhythms and nurture the wild in all of us. As it turns out, there are many beautiful ways to invite the wild into urban living, and, it turns out, one can also seek out the wild if the vehicle fits. The right fit for us was Gretchen, a 1993 VW Westfalia camper van.

There is much inspiration out there for camper living and dreaming into the future (what did we do before Pinterest?). Our dear Gretchen is now fully stocked with camp dishes and cutlery, board games and bird books. Her fridge works like a charm and the pop up top is especially cozy when we all snuggle in under our feather duvet. New summer rituals are establishing themselves as we learn the ropes of camper life: Coco has enjoyed her first roasted marshmallow over the fire (followed by many more), we celebrated father's day with bacon and eggs by the sea, I'm finally figuring out the camp stove with some degree of confidence, and, perhaps most importantly, there is the perfect dip in the dashboard for storing our beachcombing finds.

I found these photos on a never finished blog post from ages ago. I remember this day back on our land. What a sweet time that was. Sweet in its moments, difficult in the big picture. It's incredible how swift change is. When Coco was born I thought it would be ages before she turned five and now here we are on the cusp of it. This writing space was so, so good for me when she was just a babe. I fell in love with writing and capturing the world in moments like these, moments that celebrate very simply the beauty of childhood, of mothering, of forming and nurturing a young family, and of fiercely protecting all of these things from a super-sized world. Sometimes I picture it all like a fairy tale with the world outside our door (enveloped in green smoke) working hard to find its way in, and us inside guarding the archetype of childhood's rightful innocence and slow force of beauty in the world. I'm not afraid of what is outside our door, nor do I want to shelter Coco from it, but I stand for families having the final say in how much comes in.

From the beginning I've talked a lot about slowing down, nurturing the simple, and cultivating rhythms and traditions. It's something I just can't stop talking about. Barn Raising has been about sewing and Waldorf education, and glimpses into Coco's babyhood and toddler years, but it's also been about the ways of the heart. It's been about intention and peaceful gestures in the world.

It's been more difficult to keep up with Barn Raising over the last year. Our family rhythms have grown into something new and I've longed to document it. Our time is more full with activities and responsibilities and, goodness, sometimes the days are long. Still, we work even harder to keep the slow foundations there. Last year there was so much to share, but this year has been very inward, like gnomes in the deep quietly mining the gems. I find myself sometimes wondering about the future of Barn Raising and what direction it is taking, but I continue to trust the matters of the heart and those foundations that keep us afloat.

This August, Coco will be 5, and soon we'll be entering the stage of emerging out of early childhood. I take the time, so much time, to enjoy just where she's at- the flouncy, fluffy white curls, her tiny freckles speckling her nose, the chitter chatter all day long- knowing that in a blink we'll be on the horizon of 6. I know all mothers feel the passing of time as their children age, but when you are blessed with one I would add there's another layer to that...each stage becomes especially fleeting.

Right now Coco is long legs and James Herriot stories. She's an incredible little farmer who's happiest with dirt on her hands and the sun on her back. All she wants for her birthday is a set of real binoculars so that she can go bird watching. She sings and shines, skips, and jumps- everywhere. She nurturing and sweet, and dreams already of her own children. She is forgiving and empathetic, strong and courageous. Our perfect days are filled with pedal bikes, picnics, and beaches. So, yes, journeying forward there is so much to celebrate and share. This time may be fleeting, but in this moment it is everything.

Then. The lights of the coziest of seasons. Soft little kittens to celebrate a festival of warmth:

And a wee basket to tuck them into:

Lanterns to mark our inner strength and goodwill to our neighbours:

Winter and yule stories:

Advent:

St. Nicholas:

Feasting and celebrating (and special new things):

A gingerbread gift for the birds:

Now.

We stepped slowly through January. My goodness, we were all so sick throughout the holidays and I feel like our immune systems haven't yet bounced back. We've been enjoying lazy mornings and quiet days, and many suppers of brothy soups and home ferments. Stocking the home apothecary is at the top of my list. We've settled back into the rhythm of preschool and I, too, have been spending a lot of time at Coco's school. Time well spent for both of us. I've been busy thinking (always thinking) about my intentions for this year. Nothing grand, though I suppose they are to me. Some are reminders from others that resonate deeply and some come from the heart of my little family...who we are and where we want to be. I'll share them here soon.

Today.

Today we are in February. It is the ancient festival of Candlemas. It's supposed to snow today. There is stock on the stove and there will be a walk later in the woods. Sean is playing soccer. Coco is building with blocks. My, it sounds so ordinary but these are rich and precious fleeting times.

Coco's nanny and great auntie were recently here for a whirlwind visit in the city. It was my mum's first trip to visit us since we moved back and I was so excited to show both her and my aunt around our sweet house- the things that are the same, the many things that have changed. It's so good after a move to fill up a house with family and friends and, in this case, gregarious family spirit. Such things soak into the beams and rafters and become the very mood and culture of home. With some city errands taken care of we feasted on delicious borscht, sauerkraut, and roasted potatoes with horseradish, followed by hot applesauce with heavy cream. Food is a celebration all in itself, isn't it? With a candle lit and a blessing to begin, the walls of this home had plenty of family joy to take in. (Not to mention two fantastic late night games of Clue. I think this very well be my favourite kind of grown up fun- a great board game, the kitchen cleaned up, a darling girl happily fast asleep, everyone gathered around the table, a glass of wine or two, and all the laughter that follows).

Before their arrival, I'd been thinking for some time that dear Coco could use a haircut. Her wispy pouf of white fairy hair has always done it's own wild and magical thing, but after four years the ends were certainly in need of a trim. Still, other than a simple little bangs cut at age two, Coco had never had her hair cut before. There's a lot of mama waffling that comes with this...cutting off the wisps of babyhood. Almost right after my mum and aunt arrived I began asking what they thought and...should I do it? Finally, while Coco was in the bath that night I asked my aunt once again...What do you think? If I cut it like this it would look great, right? With these bits still long in front the curls in the back would certainly bounce up, right? To which she firmly replied, Oh just get the scissors already!

Sometimes it takes this, a seasoned mother (with five grown babies of her own), to say it like it is and give that gentle and, ahem, direct nudge. The scissors came out and right there in the tub Coco got her first haircut. Because her hair is so fine there was really very little to cut, but there is enough for a keepsake lock. And it was good for me, who loves to celebrate all things, to also just go ahead and cut it without any more mulling over. (Incidentally, I have learned that once that first cut is over it is much easier to keep trimming, no? Coco's hair is now decidedly even shorter than it is in these photos.)

I don't think I'll ever get used to how quickly my baby grows and changes. Just as I feel that my heart has finally caught up with her latest stage I notice that her pant hems are falling a good two inches above her ankles when just a couple of months ago they were not. Or that my favourite little pair of her shoes simply just do not fit anymore. Just yesterday we measured her against the door frame and she has grown a centimetre in just a few weeks. Forever, I know, my heart will be trying to catch up to her. But, as I cut her hair in the tub I realized that this is all part of mothering and I do love it so. I love that she surprises me every day with her quiet wisdom and strong personality. I love that she is right there alongside me in the kitchen mixing and baking and chatting away. I love watching her world expand with gusto. I love that she loves being four and is so proud to have moved past those remnants of babyness. I love knowing that we will have more moments like that, moments when I will just have to let go in order to embrace all there is to be...moments when I carefully tuck into my heart those sweet memories of what was.

Oh, November! Our little household has been bustling with all the goings on of a busy season. It's amazing how much life happens in a few short weeks, isn't it? Especially when those few (or more) weeks fall, well, in the fall. We heartily welcomed November, a month full of anticipation and celebration of our most favourite festivals. But, we've also been enjoying:

Creating everything from paintings to mama made pants, a snow fairy costume to wool felt poppies. And the list grows...

Knitting as quickly as I can in anticipation of Advent (and Martinmas past).

Harvesting the last of Sean's hot peppers which have found their way into many suppers and our first homemade hot sauce.

Feeling thankful for the bounty of garlic we have on hand that we harvested from our land as well as the frozen rhubarb and strawberries in the deep freezer. Reminders of a great, year long adventure.

Taking our time with slow breakfasts on drizzly fog horn filled days, long walks in the forest in the crisp and near winter air, the first sightings of snow on the mountains and all the skiing talk that follows (both cross country and downhill), pumpkin fields, visits from family, picnics with friends, and morning recitals of The Owl and the Pussycat.

Learning so very much each and every day. My teacher training and practicums have filled most of this month and I continue to feel so blessed to have the opportunity to learn all that I'm learning under the inspiration of truly incredible Waldorf teachers. And there's Coco's learning too, which of course happens each day, every day within our family rhythms. Still, it fills my heart to hear the sweet songs and verses that she brings home from her preschool.

Enjoying the incredible west coast sunsets and sunrises that come with late fall. Everything looks dusted in gold, pink, and crimson.

Settling in after an already fully packed November. We'll be enjoying this week with a much slower pace as I quietly prepare our home for Advent. This time, this very moment, is one of my most treasured of the year. The time when, only days away, so much joy and special magic await. This is when the house grows more still, the wintry music begins to play, and start our celebrations by switching out our autumn picture books for our winter ones.

Remembering that while Coco is young it is up to Sean and I to protect and preserve the magic of all of this for her. She creates so much of it all on her own, but out in the stirrings of this busy season such wintry and festive bliss for children (and adults) can easily be lost. Yes, I'm reminded that nothing encourages the experience of childhood magic more than simplicity...and a little imagination.

Now that we are back in our urban home and inviting rich and simple rhythms back into our lives, we are striving to enjoy fully where we are now. With birds constantly at our feeder and autumn leaves covering our porch steps, we're welcoming the pleasures and gifts of not only this treasured season, but also the experience of it all here.

Here, with every box long unpacked, we are enjoying the essence of home. We have books piled high on bedside tables and living room nooks, we have stocks and soups simmering. There are crafty projects, paintings, and drawing all about. Here, we look forward to preschool mornings and to the quiet afternoons of reading and play that follow. Here, I sit in the evenings with sewing or knitting in hand and marvel at how it is precisely all of these things...these very simple but extraordinary things...that bring true joy into our lives. In our year of country living we found we didn't "make plans". Instead, we enjoyed our home and the land around us, and established our rhythms in the cycles of our day: long breakfast, walk in the woods, work in the garden, housewifery, cooking and feasting, resting. Such simplicity is not altogether possible where we are now, but we are trying to carry forward all that we can from our experience back on the land.

Where we are now is right back where we started, though we are different people now. As the crisp air holds the promise of winter, we'll continue to weave our new life into our old life in continued celebration of living, loving, enjoying, and being right here.

It is October. The leaves are turning, the mist is settling in, and the sweet smells of the earth preparing for her fall and winter rest have begun. Coco and I spent a glorious afternoon the other day gathering chestnuts and acorns from our beloved oak and chestnut trees. These are the same trees we gathered from two Octobers ago, when so many unforseen country adventures still lay ahead. Now, here we are on the other side of all of it, and our old urban neighbourhood is home once more.

I prepared a post months ago to fill everyone in on just where this journey had taken us, but I didn't publish it for privacy reasons. I found myself uncomfortable with sharing too much of our family dynamic and schedule at the time. Now that we are all under one roof again, I can share openly that we took to our new life in the country like ducks to water. The chores and tasks that must happen to live remotely and with greater sustainability were a treasured rhythm for all of us. Chopping wood, planting, tending, weeding, harvesting, and celebrating each step of the way is an incredibly peaceful path. We watched with pride and grateful hearts as Coco quickly became so familiar with the land and her place in it. She will tell you that "harvesting" (particularly garlic) is one of her most favourite things in life.

Still, if you ask me, I will tell you that the two things I care mostly deeply about are my family's togetherness and our education choices for Coco. Despite the joys and gifts of our new life, these two foundational aspects of our family were challenged. Coco is little only this once, and Sean was missing a great deal of it with his commute to the city for work. We found that the beautiful house and land by the sea were no replacement for the very things we valued and cared for most.

In the months that passed until we could orchestrate our move back to the city, I wrote many posts left unpublished. The decisions we made were not ones taken lightly and the journey was both liberating and heart wrenching. I was always clearly guided, though, by my deep intentions for living on this earth and raising our daughter. Each day, what resonated most was the firm convicition that home is much more of a knowing and an intention than it is ever a physical space. Home is the people you love, the community you live in, the candles lit, the lullabies sung, the cookbooks open. It is the quiet of early mornings and it is the full moon on winter nights. It is knitting and crafting projects on the family table, and toys and dollies in baskets. Home is gathering together and rooting ourselves in whatever soil best nurtures us- even if that soil happens to be a small city lot.

Now that we have finally settled into our fall rhythm I am here to share with you one of those posts, written last April, three months before we moved back to our urban life. It speaks to where my heart was at the time and to the delicate art of appreciating something that you know will soon be lost. It's where we were. I read over this now with overwhelming love for the journey my little family has taken and with pride at how we navigated it together, and I feel so blessed to be living the story of where we are now.

It's so good to be back, my friends.

There is a farm near to us where we get our eggs. Turning right, at the end of a long, dirt road, we pull into the little farmyard. A huge walnut tree greets us as we walk to the barn full of eggs, produce, and tinctures and vinegars made from the harvest's bounty. We pick out our eggs and, in the fall, our apples and garlic. Writing down what we've gathered, we drop our money into the red metal box. The honour system. Most often, then, we take a walk. Past the rows of kale, where the corn grows in summer, we come to the orchard. Here, we greet the chickens, who faithfully work the land beneath the ancient apple trees as they search for grubs, grasses, and beetles. Despite how hard they work, they always come to greet us, hoping for a slip of dandelion leaf or two.

Of course, we had planned to have chickens ourselves. And bees. Our list was long and our hopes were so high a year ago when we took back to the land. I've often said, it was a dream come true. As I sit, crouched by the chickens at the farm, watching as Coco runs with abandon to greet them, my heart aches a little. We've decided to move back to our former urban neighbourhood. We will be leaving this, and our seaside land, for the likes of the city once again.

I've thought of how to put this for weeks and weeks now. At this time, all I can really say is that we have had quite the year, and the winter, which I love beyond all other season, was uncharacteristically long and dark for me. We were challenged, we dug oh, so deep, and we realized our land comes at too high a price- our precious time together as a family.

There is so much to share. As the sun shines more brilliantly with each passing day, I feel myself emerging from what has truly transformed all of us. Such a beautiful year, such challenging logistics, and some tough lessons in priorities, our relationship to the earth, and the land beneath our feet. I am heartbroken, and yet I can feel already that it's okay. Our family is full of excitement and anticipation, too. There is much good that awaits, and a new life in our old hood. But, for now, at the farm down the road, I'll crouch down by those chickens and offer them as much dandelion as I can, soaking up the beauty of rural life with the knowledge that, at least for this time in our lives, we will soon be leaving it behind. Not completely, though. The wisdom of the farmers we've met, the days by the sea, the dirt we have tended, those full country moons that cast long shadows with their brightness, these things will stay with us always, and guide us as we take homesteading to the city.

I am back in action! Sean came home today with my much anticipated, saved for, longed for, shiny and new computer! I can see already how it is going to change my world of photo sharing, blogging, writing, and pinteresting (let's be honest, now!). I have so much to share with you about our past year on the land; the year that has turned us all around and inside out and brought us to some big decisions of which I've alluded to here in recent posts. With limited means to properly write and document all that the journey entails, and the needed time to step away that sometimes comes with searching the heart and soul, barn raising took an unintentional vacation. But, here I am with equipment in hand, and new perspectives and inspiration. I can't wait to share more of our winding road.

But, despite the computer fresh out of the box, I can't spend this brilliantly sunny day online...fairy houses, forts, gardens, and one sweet little girl await!

Becoming a Waldorf teacher brings so much magic to life, in all the ways that I hope it will come to life for the students in my future classes. How can you possibly study the rich fairy tales, the qualities and attributes of letters and their stories, the magical kingdoms of numbers, the moral lessons of the fables and the archetypes of the saints, without recognizing and living into the magic of it all? I look deep into the forest on the mistiest of days and my imagination takes flight. Under the tenderest of chanterelle caps sits a fairy waiting out the rain. The gnomes live deep underneath that Douglas fir...can you hear them mining and singing? Hack, hack, the rocks we crack. Quake, quake, the earth we shake.

And to think this is only the beginning with so much to come. Astronomy. Ancient Egypt, Greece, India, and Rome. The Hebrew stories. The Norse myths. Botany and geology. Geometry and physics. The precious classics of education.

So it seems perfectly natural that in living by the sea, the spell of the salt air would take hold. Selkies, mermaids, and kelpies live here. At night, Coco is sure she can hear the mermaids singing while they sit on the rocks and comb their hair. We tell stories of the seals that live on the rocky island off the shore of our beach that is surely our own Roan Inish. These seaside tales of merwomen who shed their seal skins have evolved into kindred legends for those with the sea in their souls.

It's really quite something to look at the oridinary and the everyday to see the hidden magic beneath, to celebrate the imagination in all of its fairy rings and wizardry. Developing the ability to look at something and see more, well, that's an education in itself, and a skill this next young generation will need for the future. And so here, in this house, we celebrate and cultivate this gift.

Welcome

My name is Gwen. My days are spent mothering, crafting, walking in the woods or on the seashore, celebrating and dreaming.
I'm inspired by ships and mermaids, pirates and misty seas, aran and celtic knits, mossy forests, swallows, swifts, folktales, farmland and rolling hills, barns and front porches, old houses, warm quilts, family feasts, woolens and snowfalls in the dark of winter.

why barn raising?

Some of my most loved memories as a child involve family traditions and how they celebrated our togetherness. We raised a lot of barns as a family, so to speak, and continue to do so. I want that for my own family as well.
I've also thought a lot about the togetherness of our communities given the quick pace of the world today. How are we to raise barns together as a village with the busy schedules of modern life? The answer, for us, begins at home- establishing rhythms and creating traditions that will carry our family through the busiest of times; grounding and connecting us along the way. I hope to share that journey here.